We open to a gathering of about fifty people standing in the middle of a street. Becky Balfour is standing in front of this gathering. Everyone behind her is wearing a black t-shirt with #TheSociety plastered across the chest in big, bold, white lettering. Some of the men and women behind the outspoken rookie wrestler are holding up picket signs. One that the camera chooses to focus in on is ‘The King is Dead’.
Becky’s leather jacket hangs lazily from her shoulder as she looks behind her, before turning her icy eyes with heavy eyeshadow towards the camera.
“There is a quote I want to recite for the world. At Lights Out 12, Dante Reed said ‘Becky Balfour is making her debut here in the Battleground tonight, and many have pegged her as a big underdog’.
That’s the story of my life.
Looked down upon. Doubted. Told I can’t. I proved in Nashville that...I can.”
The words were cold as they dribbled out of the blonde’s mouth. The people behind her had emotionless expressions on their faces, but continued hoisting their signs for the cameras.
“Forgotten. That’s another word that describes me. This next show is a testament to that. I requested to be scheduled to wrestle, but Axel Graves forgot to include me. It wasn’t enough that he already refused to grant #TheSociety a place in the Battalion tournament, but hey, shit happens, right?
Last minute addition to Lights Out 13 in Ohio see’s The Iron King Cassius Reed take on Becky Balfour. This is the part where everyone tells me I don’t stand a chance. As a matter of fact, less than 24 hours after the match was announced, another wrestler you might have heard of, Xavier Laroux took to Twitter to comment. Laroux tweeted ‘Your Fu****’. I then started tweeting with the King himself. Cassius didn’t have much to do other than mock me, my Society...US.”
Becky turns to face the gathering of people behind her. She stretches her arms out and drops her head down towards the ground.
“I am them. They are me. You might be wrestling me in Ohio, but they have my back. The ‘kool aid drinkers’ as you called them? They give me power because they know that everything I do is for them. You claim to be a King, Cassius, your throne made of Iron but I’m here to overthrow you. June 23rd, the King dies.”
Becky drops her arms back to her sides and turns her back to the crowd once again. They begin hoisting their signs a bit more aggressively now. One that stands out this time is #PlanB > Plan C.
“Nobody gave me a chance against Trixie. Even she herself wasn’t worried about me. All of that precious microphone time she had right before our match? None of it was devoted to me. Her mind was elsewhere. She had me beat before we even stepped in the ring in her mind. I showed her differently when the bell rang.
How about you, Cassius? I called Trixie out on her lack of focus and I was proven right when I defeated her. Are you focused? Is Phoenix not your main priority? Do your championship’s there and in your past mean that you believe this match is over before it even begins?”
She reaches forward, grabbing the camera and leaning into it, her eyes taking up the entire shot.
“Look in my eyes and ask me if your golden path to Ohio scares me. Is it impressive? Sure. You’ve won championships all over, but so has Trixie, and I beat her. I can beat you too.”
Becky pushes the camera away from her a bit and laughs, placing a hand on her stomach as the leather jacket falls off of her petite body and to the ground. She runs her hand under her ‘Metallica’ t-shirt.
“It’s kind of ironic. We both made our in-ring debuts in the Battleground at the same event, and we both walked away victorious. Now our paths cross, but is this a match you even wanted? I was the one who begged for a match. I was the one who called Graves out on his incompetence. I’m the first one to speak about our match. This entire match exists because of me. I promise change in this world, and I’m already making it happen in Union Battleground. What change will you bring?
Do you expect me to bow at your feet like a servant, King? Am I supposed to admire your crown and shine it for you, King? Should I listen to the others who say that just because you’re more experienced and more accomplished, I have no chance, King? I’m sure if you were answering these questions, the proper response would be YES...but screw that, my answer is no. I won’t bow at your feet. No, I won’t shine your crown, and NO...your past accomplishments while impressive don’t guarantee you a win at Lights Out in Ohio.
So what does get you the win? Could it be your Funkensteiner or Plan C moonsault that you used at Lights Out 12? Could it be one of the other moves you’ve won a match with over the course of your career? Do you know what gives me an advantage? You have match after match that I can study. Hours of footage at my disposal that I can view to see common tendencies. What moves you use to set up the finishes. What hurts you. At what minute in a match do you begin to sweat. How have you been defeated in the past. It’s all there. You could try the same with me, but I have less than five matches for you to watch, and each one has went differently. There is no pattern. There is no solid gameplan. I’m a mystery, and I like it that way.”
Becky reaches into the pocket of her pants and pulls out a pair of scissors. Without hesitation she cuts at the bottom of her shirt and then rips it off, dropping it to the ground.
“Is it getting funky in here yet, Cass?”
Balfour laughs before turning to face the people once more. This time, only wearing a black bra, her pants, and a crown that someone has reached over and placed on her head. The scissors are still in her right hand.
“At Lights Out, you can beat me down. You can toss me to the side. You can ignore my existence, but you will never silence me. I cut the shirt from my back to leave it here for my people, my society, as a symbol of what I stand for and who I am. Everything about me is for them, while everything about you...is for you, selfish King.
Wrestle me for you. Look to add to your legacy. Build your dynasty from your throne. But watch for rocks, because that’s what I’m pelting at you and that throne.”
She holds the scissors up for the camera and removes the crown from her head, dropping it to the crown. She places a black boot over top of the crown.
“I think I’ll hold onto these scissors, never know when I might need them. See you at Lights Out, selfish King.”
Becky walks away as one of the men from the gathering reaches down and lifts up the crown and her ripped shirt. The man tosses the shirt behind him into the crowd of people who begin passing the shirt through each others hands as if it were a person crowd surfing at a concert. The screen flashes black and white as #TheSociety appears before it cuts to static and fades out.
The living room is simply decorated. It’s not extravagant by any stretch of the imagination, and is clean beyond its state of disrepair, the gleaming jewel of a house proud individual without much to call their own. Photographs decorate the faded walls, picture frames hiding cracks in the walls, kids’ drawings concealing peeling wallpaper. And on a threadbare sofa, working industriously on something positioned on a ramshackle coffee table, sits a young boy. He’s blind to the world as he works on, completely consumed by the task at hand. He barely even hears his name being called.
?? ?: “CASS! CASS, WHERE YOU AT?”
The young Cassius Reed doesn’t react, not through obstinence, but instead through ignorance. So taken by what he’s doing, he just doesn’t hear her voice until its owner is in the room with him, standing over him. The impressive figure of Momma Reed looms over her young son, her shadowing casting him into darkness.
MOMMA REED: “Boy, you need your ears cleaning? Where’s your brother a-... what you doing?”
The young boy looks up, beaming. In his hands is an old chipped mug, taken from the kitchen. He’s decorated it with stickers and stars, that frame a single legend, painted inexpertly upon it in multicolored poster paint: “I LOVE YOU DAD”.
CASSIUS REED: “I made it for Dad…”
Her face betrays a hint of pain for only a moment, before a light smile replaces it.
MOMMA REED: “Oh… Cassius…”
CASSIUS REED: “Do you think he’d like it?”
The young man turns his attention back to his art project, marveling at it in his hands. He can’t see his mother wince at the mention of his father, not that she’d ever let him see that.
MOMMA REED: “I… I’m sure he would.”
Her voice softens almost instantly as she rests a hand on her son’s shoulder.
CASSIUS REED: “Will you take it to him next time you go? Will you?”
MOMMA REED: “Of course… of course boy.”
He sits nervously, obviously dancing around asking a question he’s asked a thousand times before.
CASSIUS REED: “Can I come this time… to his grave? Come see him?
MOMMA REED: “Now C ass… we talked about that. When I think you and Aries are ready, I’ll take you both to see him… OK?”
Downtrodden, and more than a little disheartened, Cassius sets the mug down on the table, the hint of a tear haunting his eye. He sniffs.
CASSIUS REED: “But I am ready...”
MOMMA REED: “And I ain’t saying you ain’t, Cass… but Aries… he’s still too young. When you’re both ready… I’ll take you both. OK?”
Slowly Cassius nods, eyes fixed on the mug in front of him. Once more, it’s all about one of his brothers. It’s always about Aries or Darius. It’s never just about Cassius. Never.
Now
Recording 🔴
CASSIUS REED: “Where Cassius comes from, you start with nothin’.”
The camera comes up on Cassius Reed, stood, head cocked, hands resting on his belt buckle. He’s sporting a “Cassius Reed Experience” t-shirt, eyes burning holes into the camera lens.
CASSIUS REED: “In our neighbourhood, you didn’t have squat. In fact, you aspired to squat. And you had plenty of suckas who just couldn’t climb outta that hole. Born into it, the grip on them was too strong, and they just… fell into it. Born with nothin’, dyin’ with nothin’. Nothin’.”
A shake of the head, and a wry smile.
CASSIUS REED: “But to some of us… the brave and the bold… we used that to motivate us. Push us to loftier goals and broader horizons. See, we knew we were the victims of circumstance, not some twisted concept of fate and predestination. We used that to fuel the fire, and push us out of the ghetto. Everythin’ Cassius is, everythin’ Cassius has, he went out and took. He put himself out there, and got the work done, because no-one else was goin’ to for him. Who was it who pushed and pushed until Cassius got into the Olympic Boxin’ Program? Cassius Reed. Who was it who got Cassius into a wrestlin’ school, who funded his trainin’ by workin’ whatever he could up in cold ass Toronto? Cassius Reed. Do you think HKW, one of the biggest wrestlin’ companies in the world, came and sought out Cassius Reed when they needed a new Vice-President of Talent Relations? Did they funk; Cassius strapped up, strutted into those offices, and demanded that shot. Did Cassius one day just proclaim himself King like any of the thousand other suckas. Funk no! Cassius entered one of the toughest tournaments in the world. He stood against some of the biggest names in the business. He took down Andreas funkin’ Lasiewicz, all for the right to call himself the Iron King.”
Cassius shrugs his shoulders.
CASSIUS REED: “Now, Cassius is picturin’ you all sat at home, by your computers, hands wrist deep in your snack pot, watchin’ this video and askin’ yourselves… “Cassius, we know that you’re amazing, that you’re the Iron King, and the funkiest wrestler on the face of the planet… but what is all of this in aid of?” Well if you all weren’t so impatient, Cassius would have already got there, and we wouldn’t be havin’ this redundant conversation. The point Cassius is lookin’ to get to is that when someone steps up, thinkin’ they deserve whatever just because of their own circumstances, yeah, that gets Cassius’ goat. And that’s the problem Cassius has with this Becky Balfour and her “Society”. Cassius has seen them on social media and whatever… oh no our parents didn’t love us… you don’t understand us… and then it’s all “gimme gimme gimme”. Take Hot Topic Barbie over there. Cassius sees her there, sayin’ “I shoulda been invited to that tournament” or “I deserve this, I deserve that”, but what Cassius don’t see is her goin’ out and gettin’ it. Cassius doesn’t see her makin’ her own fortune, all he sees is a whole lotta bitchin’ about how horrible her past has been. Girl please, this is professional wrestlin’. If you ain’t got a tragic backstory or broken home then you might as well not even bother lacin’ up your boots in the first place. Seriously, in the list of tragedies Cassius has personally been told about, bein’ given away at birth and then adopted by some folks who, by all available information, actually love you… you realise that actually don’t rate that high on the scale, yeah? And then to think that makes you some kind of misfit outsider in this game?”
Cassius can’t withhold the slight chuckle that emerges from his lips.
CASSIUS REED: “You want to be hated. You want to feel ostracised, to feel discarded. You’ve given yourself your own sense of self worth in deprivin’ yourself of worth, which about the most ass backwards piece of logic Cassius has ever heard. You ain’t been victimized, except by yourselves. Now, as we reach the part of the wrestlin’ promo traditionally known as the summin’ up, Cassius is goin’ to tie the first two points together like some kind of Gordian knot. You see, you want the win to be given to you. Cassius wants to earn the win… to prove, yet again, that he’s the best. Now… maybe if Cassius was a kind and generous King, he might give you the win you think you deserve. But as some sucka has commented recently, Cassius is a Selfish King. And he don’t give squat. You want to take this win from Cassius, you gonna have to actually bring some action, some skill, some desire to win outside of your sense of petty entitlement. If you can do that… well Cassius is still gonna beat you, but then at least you might entertain some suckas before you drop.”
Cassius smiles, as he slowly approaches the camera.
CASSIUS REED: “This ain’t goin’ to be the rise of The Society, the death of no monarchy. This ain’t goin’ to be know Emo Cinderella story… this is plain and simple, a battle between someone who thinks they deserve it all, and someone who’s willin’ to give all he is to take it all. And how’s it all goin’ to end? Warnin’, spoilers…”
Cassius, now right up by the lens, leans in, shielding the side of his mouth as he leans in in a conspiratorial manner, whispering his final words straight into the lens.
??